When I Flash-Married a Billionaire, My Ex Went on a Hunger Strike novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Steam

The water ran hot and the mirror fogged white.

He undressed me slowly this time, in the bathroom light, and every inch of skin he uncovered he looked at.

My ribs.

The yellowing bruise on my hip from the cellar floor.

The raw bands around both wrists, where the gauze came off.

He unwound it with great care and held my hands under the water.

"These hurt?"

"A little."

"Good. It means they're healing." He turned my wrist to kiss the inside, right on the worst of the mark. "I'm not going to pretend they're not there."

"Don't."

"I won't."

I stepped under the spray, and he followed, and the shower stall was suddenly very small.

He was massive in it.

Water ran down his chest and over his stomach, and his cock stood hard against my belly, thick and heavy.

I took the soap from him first.

"My turn," I said.

I lathered my palms and put them on his chest, and watched the muscle jump under my hands.

I washed his shoulders and the long hard lines of his ribs.

I washed his stomach, and the dark trail of hair that ran down it.

I closed my soapy fist around his cock.

His head hit the tile.

"Mina."

"Like that?"

"Exactly like that."

I stroked him slow and firm from base to tip, twisting a little at the head, and watched his jaw lock.

Water sluiced over his shoulders.

His hand shot out and gripped the shower rail, knuckles white.

"I could do this for an hour," I said.

"I would let you."

"I know."

I rubbed my thumb over the slit and felt him jerk in my hand.

"Okay," he said, strangled. "Okay. That's enough of that, or I won't last through the next part."

"What's the next part?"

"This."

He turned me around so quickly I yelped.

He took the soap back and worked it into a lather between his palms.

"Face the wall," he said.

I faced the tile.

His hands landed on my shoulders and slid down my back, soap slick, thumbs digging into the knots along my spine.

I groaned.

"You carry everything here," he said into my ear. "Nineteen days of it."

"I know."

"Let me have some."

His hands moved lower.

They spread over my ass, and squeezed, and glided between my thighs.

I braced both palms against the wall as the soap and the water made everything slide.

One finger stroked along my slit.

Slowly.

Back and forth, a long wet line, and my knees shook.

"Lachlan."

"I know. I know what you need."

He pushed one finger inside me, and then two, thick and deep and unhurried, and his thumb found my clit and rolled it.

I pushed back against his hand.

"Look at you," he said, his chest at my back, his mouth against my neck. "You're so wet for me. Even with the water, I can feel it."

"Don't stop."

"I'm not going to."

He curled his fingers.

The tile was cold under my palms and his body hot behind me, and the contrast was almost too much.

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